THE STORIES OF LOVE AND DREAMS THAT PEPPER MY PURSUIT OF ME

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I transition back to New York, I open doors and prove my value, perhaps, just to say goodbye with a I don’t need you, you need me. Time will tell. This is my professional life at the moment.

My love life is becoming but a joke. A client asked me yesterday, I am sure you had many valentine’s. And I could only laugh and decline comment.
It is only 11 this morning and four correspondences with hearts pointed in my direction . .

From Jonas:

“I miss your company, talking to you, going somewhere with you, being in bed with you. You really are my muse, you inspire me.”

From my ex:

Quoted, Una Palabra

“If one day you need me, I will be nothing
And at the same time I will be everything
Because in your eyes are my wings
And the shore where I drown,
Because in your eyes are my wings
And the shore where I drown”

A.

Is in Australia. He looks for moments, hidden minutes, updates me on itinerary. The past two weeks have brought us together. Have connected us. I think we may be dating. It offers me highs and butterflies. But, I am all too aware, that relatively, he offers me nothing. When one is used to scraps, an offered bite, is blessed . . Keep perspective. We will see. But, I am happy . . .

I think he is finally falling for me, my darling.

But of course, a stolen kiss from a new player, Genius, and I realize the ironic possibility of hurting A. who was so emotionally caught off.

I am back in New York. Missing Caballito. Still frustrated at my initial sabotaging of our perfection. I realize that if he were to ask me to be my boyfriend, I would object. I don’t actually want anything more than what we have, aside from perhaps some security, an antidote to my vulnerability. This vulnerability is causing me to want to act up, react, demand, and need.

I saw KidRobot for the first time since May. More to come on KidRobot. I also saw the Journalist. The companion I left behind in New York a month ago. A companion that is emotionally available and as such, I didn’t allow as close as Caballito (physically). Of course, we only want the men that could hurt us. I spent many moments with the Journalist. Stuck him on a horse. Drove him past pumpkins. Departures from the typical daily life of a New Yorker. Perfect “dates” although in my mind, they were just “days.”

I saw him Friday, my first full day back. And I couldn’t find the feeling of connection I had previously felt. Perhaps, because he is a large contrast to the energy, power, and strength I see in Caballito? Everything from his shoes to his purchase of gloves made me realize the difference of our worlds. Unimportant, yes . . but the little things were starting to bug me . .

AND when the little things start to bug you, I feel everything thereafter is an inevitable ride downhill (without brakes) . .

Is it just me or when you lose feelings or realize you have none, do you start to resent very small insignificant things?

I realized that I may have been too shocked by getting acclimated to New York again and clouded in my own feelings of longing for Caballito and my lack of “legs” here, to enjoy the Journalist on Friday. So, last night, the Journalist came over. It was nice and comfortable, but when I realized he was spending the night, I wanted to inch away. Eject him from my bed. He somewhat smelled. He was too skinny. He is nice, but just nice. I turned off the light and he kissed me. I kissed back with tight lips. And then turned.

I slept. I woke up early and there is no better source of caffeine than wanting to escape a situation in your own bed. . . . I miss you Caballito.

So, as you know MattDamon let an imaginary relationship grow in his mind. This became apparent by his friends’ and colleagues’ comments at his gradation dinner. Recall, “So, this is the meeting of the parents! “

After this event and my avoiding his attempts to peck me on the lips as if we did it for everyday for the last ten years, MattDamon avoided the coffee shop where we spend our days working on laptops.

Another fellow coffee-shopper, the Journalist, also works from there. The Journalist is also an acquaintance of MattDamon, albeit a new one. He too was at the graduation dinner. As we were chatting that evening, which we had done many times before, I sensed a spark of interest (he unaware of my assumed romantic status with MattDamon.) Jounalist had always disregarded me previously (so much so that he didn’t even recognize me when I had walked into the coffee shop from my two weeks in PR, so I was rather surprised to find a spark in his eye.)

I gave the Journalist my card as I fled that awkward evening. The next morning:

On 10/17/08 7:51 AM, the Journalist wrote:

Hey there,
Just adding you to my contacts before I forget. Here’s my info, case you need some editing help.
Good to see you last night.

Journalist
555.555.5555

On Oct 17, 2008, at 9:28 AM, Attainingme wrote:

Lol. Thanks. Way to make me feel brilliant first thing in the morning.

On Oct 17, 2008, at 10:49 AM, Journalist wrote:

Just kidding. Drop a line if you are out in hood later.
Btw still embarrassed about not recognizing you yesterday 😉

The night of the credit card incident, Journalist texted me. Feeling as if I lost my mind, I welcomed the opportunity to have a drink. Without money, I told him he had to purchase it. He obliged. We met at a small bar. Sat. Talked. Connected . . .

This was the start to our companionship that flourished until my leaving for PR last week–the companionship that has me feeling empty. I really miss him. We talk daily. We kissed while I was there. Nothing more. I spent the night and he did as well. He ventured with me on errands and to ride horses, hours working at cafes, a few dinners, and a couple parties. I enjoy him, but don’t foresee him as a boyfriend. The only potential boyfriend may be Dario, who will be dissected separately.

So, here is the dilemma:

As I mentioned MattDamon and Journalist are acquaintances, a growing friendship, a mutual respect. So, the Saturday before my departure to PR, after the companionship with the Journalist and I was budding, all three of us somehow ended up at the same bar. MattDamon was clueless that the Journalist and I had planned to meet each other. MattDamon left to go to another obligation. I was leaving soon as well. Ten minutes later, Journalist walked me out. MattDamon stood outside waiting—he waited ten mintues!!